Some Other Beginning's End
by BelovedShadow
Summary: Harry reveals the fact that he is a horcrux to Voldemort during the final battle, and Voldemort decides to keep Harry safe and protected. Knowing that he and Voldemort are the only two people who will live forever, Harry distances himself from everyone but Voldemort, and develops a growing fascination with the man and his dark, peculiar, ways. HPLV! Not DH Compliant! MPREG!


_A/N: Wow… what to say about this fanfic. It's long, and there's no real smut in it. It's just a story that's been stuck with me for a long time that needed to be told. I will warn that there is some MILD HOMOEROTICA in this, though hopefully nothing bad enough to get me kicked off the site. Of course, the Slash!Fiction part of it is rather implied, being that it's HarryMort. I will also now warn you that there is MPREG in this, in case that's not your cup of tea. This fic works its way through a pattern, as you may notice, and the section headings are not always the same distance apart, ranging between 800 and 2500 words, so I hope that inconsistency doesn't disturb you. Anyway, I'll let you get to reading._

_Enjoy!_

**Godric's Hallow – 1998**

Never, not in a thousand lifetimes, could he have told you what brought him there. One moment, he was at Malfoy Manor, thinking everything over – but then, suddenly, it was the wrong place to be. He'd needed to come here instead, because it was where it began, and tomorrow it would end.

Tomorrow – he was going to kill Harry Potter. Finally. Either that, or Harry Potter would kill him, but either way, it would be tomorrow. He knew it. He was going straight to Hogwarts directly after this, and that held some sort of finality that he did not exactly comprehend, but did not exactly want to. He needed to kill Harry like he needed air to breathe; and like with air, he did not know why that was.

Oh sure, it had been about the prophecy for a very long time. For longer than he cared to think about, even. Still, it didn't feel like that was the issue anymore. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord had approached, and approached, and continued to approach, and all for what? Wasn't it Voldemort who, in reality, had started all of this? If he hadn't murdered the boy's parents, friends, family – would Harry even care about him?

Of course he would. Harry Potter was the sort of nuisance that even _fate _could not control. Certainly, if the prophecy had never been made, and the Potter's never killed, and the killing curse never backfired, and Voldemort himself had not been forced into that horrible wraith-like existence for so many years – then _still _Harry would have grown up to be exactly the same: ignorant, judgmental, foolish, shallow, prideful – a Gryffindor through and through.

But what on earth was he to _do _without that boy? He had literally devoted the last sixteen years of his existence trying to kill him. Voldemort was a smart man. He was very much aware of his strange obsession with Harry Potter. It was in moments like this, when he was lost in his memories, that he thought about his first conversation with the boy. Trapped on the back of that idiot teacher's head, he had no true method of manipulation aside from his words – and Voldemort's words were powerful, yes. However, his actual _presence _was what seemed to keep his followers in check. Even the least devoted to his cause had been easily swayed in his youth by his charming good looks and overall confident demeanor.

But Harry hadn't ever seen him in his prime. Not properly. Where would they be now if little Harry Potter had agreed to join the dark at the end of his first year? At one point, Voldemort could easily have said that they wouldn't be anywhere. He'd have murdered the boy quickly and efficiently – first chance he got … but what if he hadn't?

It wasn't even worth thinking about really, he decided, and straightened up his back. Here he was, standing at the grave-sights of James and Lily Potter, musing about meaningless things concerning their son.

But _why_?

That was what troubled him the most. Why did he care? Why did it matter? Why was he _here_ in this absurd little place that was everything he hated? Home to the Gryffindors, Dumbledores, and _Potters_. What on earth did the all great and powerful Lord Voldemort have to do in a place like this?

The answer was glaring back at him: Harry.

Harry was the reason he was here, as he always had been. Sixteen years ago, when Voldemort had come to kill him, or even just that past Yule, when Voldemort had _again _come to this neighborhood with the intention of ending that blasted child's life. Both times ended with disappointment and broken windows. Clearly, Harry was not meant to die where his parents did.

No, if there would be an end to either of them, it would not be the places they should have called home. Voldemort could never allow himself to die in Little Hangleton, and Harry couldn't be killed in Godric's Hallow. Both of them had been denied the homes they should have found compassion and comfort in, hadn't they?

There was only one place appropriate to end it. The only home they'd ever _really _known. The only place that understood them, and understood the war, and the reasons for it. The place where the very ground whispered it's affection for every lost child that had been left to go wandering. The place where even a young Tom Marvolo Riddle had never once had to ask himself _why._

Hogwarts. It was at Hogwarts that their lives had actually begun – and so it was there that they must end, no matter which of them would be ending when the time came. Casting a tempus, Voldemort had a final look at the date on Harry's parents' graves, and then set off towards home.

**Hogwarts – 1998**

His time was up, but he still lingered there, watching. He couldn't take his eyes off of Voldemort's closed lids, and the way that the man looked so calm, so patient, so relaxed. It was a lie, obviously. Voldemort wasn't the kind of man who even understood things like patience, and the sort of 'calm' that he was able to comprehend was a deathly one. With Voldemort, it was always the calm before the storm.

But Harry did not – _could not – _take the next step into the clearing.

"Oh, _Harry_..."

He turned beneath the cloak. It was his mother, and there were silent tears streaming down her face. He knew, in that moment, that she understood. She wrapped her slender arms around him and squeezed as best she could. Unlike a ghost, she did not pass through him – it was only that she felt … hallow, as if she wasn't completely there.

Harry looked at Sirius, who would take it the hardest of them all, he thought. "I don't want to die." It was whispered so low that even the death eaters – so close and yet so far away – were unable to hear him.

Red eyes opened, and for a brief moment, Harry thought they were looking right at his. Dolohov was telling Voldemort that he wasn't coming, and he wondered if Dolohov was right.

"Then don't," James said, gently, "You know that he'll let you join him if it's what you want, Son. It's your choice. What kind of Dad would I be if I was telling you to off yourself, huh?"

"We_ will_ support you no matter what, Harry." Remus' voice was one of those simple comforts that could ease Harry to sleep even on the most horrid of nights. It was so calm, so soft, as if he was hesitant to speak each word – but still sounded so sure. He adored it, and still, he had eyes only for Sirius in that moment.

"You're my godson, Harry. It saddens me to realize you think I wouldn't stand by you in whatever decisions you make," Sirius sighed, deeply. "I don't think joining him will make you happy – but it would make me happy, _so _happy, if you proved me wrong. I mean, hell! If you wanna live, why not take it all the way and live forever! That's what he offers. When you have to choose between never dying and dying right now, it's an obvious choice, isn't it?"

Harry closed his eyes, and felt his mother pressing cold kisses against his eyelids. Vaguely, he was aware of Voldemort's voice, as high and clear as it had ever been. The man sounded … disappointed.

"We will always love you," Lily spoke into his ear, like a whisper on the wind, her voice heavy with emotion, "No matter what you do, or who you love, or why you make your choices. We will always, _always _love you, Harry …" She was choking on her tears, and Harry felt his own spilling rapidly down his cheeks. "Go," She whispered, and he felt the stone slip between his fingers. She was gone, then. They all were, and he took off the cloak, and looked again towards Voldemort.

"I was, it seems … mistaken," The red eyed man was saying, and Harry took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

"You weren't."

The next thirty seconds of his life seemed to pass very quickly. Hagrid was screaming, and then suddenly he was silent. Bellatrix was breathing so hard that Harry would not have been surprised to know she'd just finished a marathon. The thought of her in a sports bra and jogging shorts almost put an amused smile on his face – almost.

"I need to speak with you alone, Tom," Harry said it very firmly, with as much self-assurance as he could muster. This seemed to attract Voldemort's attention, but his facial expression didn't change. Harry wondered if he was so impassive on purpose, to show the people around him that he was always unimpressed with their pathetic lives.

"There were not six, Tom. There were seven. Now, there are two – and we are both right here." Harry looked pointedly towards Nagini, still writhing round in that cage of magic, clearly uncomfortable with the tight space.

Voldemort's face still did not change, but he was looking at Harry very intensely now, and as their eyes connected, Harry imagined how it could have ended. His own eyes, with their avada kedavra green, and Voldemort's expelliaramus red – forever battling with one another until their death. But when would that death be? Now? Or never?

The death eaters were looking at Harry as if he was speaking some sort of strange language. Good. They didn't understand what is was that he'd really said, then. Voldemort's eyes stayed on his for a moment longer, and then drifted slightly upwards. He was looking at the scar, and it burned furiously, just from his gaze. Out of pure instinct, Harry's hand flew up to it, and he knew that Voldemort had understood him by the words that left the man's mouth when he finally spoke.

"Leave us," the sound of his voice cut through the air like a stinging hex, but somehow more _cold._

The death eaters had a single brief second of extreme surprise and confusion, and then they were all scrambling out of the clearing. Some surely staying close. Bellatrix cast a longing gaze at her lord before walking away, and Harry, inexplicably, hated her even more just then than he ever had before.

"_We will speak this way, Harry – they will not have gone far."_

Harry almost shivered at the hissing sound of Voldemort speaking the language of snakes. He realized that Voldemort had never spoken Parseltongue to him before, and while this did not surprise him (after all, why on earth _would _it?) it did seem to mean something that the man was doing so now. It was as if this whole time, they had both, at different points, and for different reasons, tried to fight the fact that they had so much in common – but now, it was staring them in the face. Or rather, it was hissing into their ears.

Harry spoke:

"_You cannot cast dark magic on her to delay her death. It will kill her more slowly, and the soul shard will prolong her life – but not forever."_

Voldemort smiled, lightly, as if it came easily to him, though Harry doubted it did. Nagini hissed and sputtered indignantly, knowing that they were talking about her as if she was a carton of milk with an expiration date.

"_You are wrong, Harry. Her soul has merged with mine, and she will live as long as I do," _Nagini calmed at this, though she was still giving Harry a look that was distinctly malcontent, _"But you do not truly care about her death, do you? It's your own demise that you want to prevent with this. You believe that telling me you are my Horcrux will end my desire to kill you."_

"_And am I right?"_

Voldemort stood, and pointed his wand towards Harry – the man was thinking so hard about the killing curse that sparks of green dropped from the tip of his wand and fizzled into nothingness before him.

"_My desire to kill you is as strong as it ever was," _Voldemort said, coming closer and letting the Elder Wand brush against Harry's left cheek. It was a morbid caress, with tiny green flecks of death warming his skin dangerously. _"And yet I find that I no longer have the intention of actually doing so."_

Harry did not release a sigh of relief until the death stick and it's wielder were both farther away from his face. Nagini looked slightly disappointed to learn that her master was no longer planning on killing Harry, and he was tempted to stick his tongue out at her, but resisted.

"_That doesn't clear up one big problem, Tom – I'm not immortal. Eventually, I'll die, whether you kill me or not."_

Voldemort snorted at this, and Harry was shocked at the sound. _"I see there is more Slytherin to you than the language of snakes, Harry. You would go so far as to try and convince me that I should grant you immortality for my own sake? It is a good plan, child, but the day you can Out-Slytherin Slytherin's heir is still a long time in coming."_

Harry frowned, feeling mocked, and not enjoying it. Really, he was just trying to think more like Voldemort so that he could understand the man. His own immortality was not something that he'd ever thought about before or desired; but he knew that to Voldemort immortality was the ultimate goal, and he would not believe that Harry was joining him for anything less. So, this is what he bargained for.

"_If you want to live forever, I will not stop you – but you will do it the same way I did. I will not freely bind you to myself the way I did with Nagini. You are a fool to think I would ever allow you that."_

The same way _he _did? Harry grimaced at the thought. He couldn't _possibly _take another person's life just to elongate his own. And to split his soul? That would be horrid.

"_You know that you want me to be immortal, too. It unsettles you, doesn't it? Having a Horcrux that you know won't actually outlive you. It defeats the purpose of you keeping me alive if you let me die."_

Harry knew that he was treading through dangerous water, here, but also _thought _he knew Voldemort relatively well. If Harry himself was not immortal, he would lose value in Voldemort's eyes, and, eventually, Voldemort _would _kill him. At this point, Harry had decided that if he wasn't dead by the end of that night, he had no intention of dying any time afterword's. If he were cowardly enough to sacrifice the good of the Wizarding world for his own life, he had better damn well make sure that he lived it for as long as possible. Things would be different if he let Voldemort kill him for the 'greater good' but now that Voldemort had decided Harry could live, he wasn't going to settle for just _any _life. It would be a waste of everyone else's if he did that.

"_Alright, Harry. You've called my bluff. Yes, I want you to be immortal. Or, at least the part of _me_ that's inside of you. You will make your own Horcrux, and then I will cast a preservation spell on you to keep your body in its current state of health. This, will prevent death by illness. You have hardly any choice in the matter. You may kill one of my followers, if you wish – any one that you choose, to do the ritual. I have all sorts of priceless items at my disposal, and even more are inside the castle. Choose any of them as a container for your soul, and I will help you to keep it safe. If you refuse, you are of no use to me, and I am sure you are already quite familiar with what I do to people I find useless."_

Harry kept quiet and let Voldemort speak. His mind was racing a mile a minute until he knew exactly what it was that he wanted. He looked up at Voldemort, and his eyes were bright with confidence. He knew that Voldemort would not be happy with his decision, but he also knew that Voldemort would agree anyway, because he truly had no choice. Neither of them did. All this talk was meaningless.

"_Bellatrix Lestrange,_" Harry said, not doubting himself for a moment as the name of his chosen condemned slithered from his tongue. _"...And you."_

The Dark Lord's eyes widened, the first true show of expression that night, and Harry knew that the man had understood what it was he was saying. _"Absolutely not. Why would I want a piece of your worthless, despicable, soul residing within me? Perish the thought."_

Harry shrugged, but grinned, because they both knew who was going to win this one. _"I've kept _your_ worthless, despicable soul safe for all this time. Return the favor, or kill me and your penultimate Horcrux along with me. Those are your only options."_

Voldemort's wand was at Harry's neck only a second later, and it was scorching hot, burning him badly enough to scar. Harry knew that the man had never wanted to kill him more than he did in that moment, but he also knew that he wouldn't.

They stared darkly at each other, for nearly a full sixty seconds, both hoping that maybe the other would just suddenly drop dead without any negative consequences, and both knowing that it was highly unlikely.

Then, Voldemort spoke:

"_Come to he that marked you as his own – Bellatrix Lestrange_,"

It was the first time that Harry had ever seen or heard Voldemort summon someone through the mark without simply using someone else's. The fact that the incantation was in English-Parseltongue proved it to be a spell of Voldemort's own invention, which impressed Harry, though he did not know why. Nor did he have time to think about why, because with a dark smoky wave of black, she was there, on her hands and knees, ready to serve. Harry stared at her, and he hated her, and he wondered if he hated her enough to kill her – but before he had a chance to wonder that for two long, he was simply raising his wand, speaking two of the world's most feared words, and then lost in a world of power and _green._

**Riddle Manor – 2000**

"You are failing to master the spell because you lack the focus. Focus your mind, and it will come to you. Magic is your friend, Harry, it does not wish to do you harm."

A very cold, and _very _pissed twenty year old Harry James Potter glared at Voldemort darkly. His hair was spiked up in tiny icicles, and there were snowflakes collecting on his eyelashes. He was using his wand hand to cast several consecutive defrosting spells on the lower half of his body, and giving Voldemort the evil eye all the while.

"I am failing to _master the spell _because the spell is _fucking stupid _and you can go preach that 'Magic doesn't wish to do you harm' bullshit to someone who _hasn't _had the killing curse coming at his face!"

"Ah – but the killing curse did not kill you, did it?" Voldemort asked, pointedly refusing to assist the younger man in defrosting himself, especially because Harry was now – very carefully – trying to unfreeze extremely personal parts of his anatomy.

"If I've managed to _actually _freeze my balls off, then I swear Tom – your balls are next!" Harry murmured angrily.

Voldemort merely tilted his head in vague interest. "That might concern me, were it not for the fact that you have yet to succeed in an ice blasting charm without completely immobilizing _yourself _in the process, and even with a clear understanding of making the ice appear, _you're _still more frozen than the inferi."

Harry had long since gotten over any disturbance he'd originally had with the fact that the Dark Lord himself insisted on teaching him defense. He knew that to Voldemort, he needed to be better skilled at defending the Horcrux. Harry wasn't even disturbed by Voldemort's company any longer. He still found the man gravely unsettling, but after two years in each other's presence, they had developed a shaky understanding for one another, and as a teacher, Voldemort was pretty much the same way towards Harry that most of his other teachers had been, except with a pinch more cynicism and a dash more sarcasm.

The thing that _did _freak him out still, were the living-corpse training dummies. Voldemort insisted on them, but to Harry they were the worst possible thing to look at, and often caused him to vomit if he thought too hard on their mangled appearances.

"Inferi don't even _care _about ice. I could off this thing with a simple incendio! Why the ice blast?"

"Because you do not _know _the ice blast, and new knowledge comes before perfecting the old."

Harry let out a relieved sigh as he regained feeling in his testicles, and got to work on his toes. Voldemort claimed that making him defrost himself after every failed attempt would encourage him to do better the next time, but Harry found it tedious and rather painful.

"How about this – teach me a better defrosting spell first, one that can do my whole body at once, and then I'll work on this stupid ice blast for as long as you like, okay?"

"Hmm," Voldemort frowned in thought, "In the library, third shelf to the left, in the bottom row, there is a book that will help you with that."

Harry scowled angrily. Voldemort never taught him anything outright if it was something he _wanted _to learn. Two fucking years of his life had passed by with him living between this training room, his musty guest bedroom, and the god-forsaken library! He literally hadn't left this stupid manor since he'd gotten here.

Still, he knew it was his fault... He could remember less than a year ago, when Voldemort had casually announced to him that Ron and Hermione were getting married. Harry knew he should have been their best man. He _knew _that – but it felt wrong somehow, to continue carrying on those relationships. After splitting his soul, it was very easy for Harry to think of things more objectively, rather than emotionally; and he had decided that he couldn't afford to care about anything or anyone that he was guaranteed to outlive.

The irony in this was that there was only one person who he knew would live as long as he did. That person was now gazing at him, with his usual expressionless face and knowing eyes. Harry wanted to kill him, and decided he ought to say so.

"I want to kill you, Tom. I want to kill you _right_ _now_."

"Is that so, my boy?"

Harry scrunched up his nose. "Don't call me that, Dumbledore called me that..."

"You don't say?" Voldemort responded, with mock interest, and Harry chuckled.

"If you're still trying to stop me from calling you Tom, it's gonna take more than a sneaky '_my boy' _every now and then. I get it, Dumbledore called you Tom – but here's the catch: It's your _actual fucking name, _you idiot!"

"Of all the negatively connotative words to insult me with, you choose one that implies a lack of intelligence. Poor decision, Harry – very inaccurate of you."

Harry stared at him for a moment, "You know, the more you talk when you're awake, the more I want to murder you in your sleep."

Voldemort, quite used to Harry's death threats at this point, did not see fit to respond. Instead, he waved his wand, and two books came zipping into the room. Voldemort picked one up and opened it, beginning to read. So, Harry rightfully inferred that the other was for him. As soon as he touched it, it opened up to a page on defrosting spells, and he smiled gratefully, though he wouldn't actually _thank _Voldemort for getting it for him. After all – the guy had ruined his whole life, didn't he owe Harry stupid shit like research assistance – at least?

They sat in silence, then. Harry, on the icy cold ground, and Voldemort in a chair that he had apparently transfigured the inferi into. Harry had, in their time together, seen Voldemort perform several examples of transfiguration that according to Professor McGonagall were impossible. Everything from transfiguring an inanimate object to a living animal to doing something as extravagant as turning pocket-lint into a fully functional muggle television – which was quite the interesting story.

The chair Voldemort had created was apparently leather, and it looked to be made of harshly beaten human skin, but Harry focused back on his reading. Now, the only sound in the room was the turning of pages... but Harry was bored.

"Hey, Tom? What're you reading?"

"_Necromancy, and the Darkest of Darke." _He hissed out in response.

"_Right, and is there any particular reason that you felt the title ought to be said in Parseltongue?"_

"Because it is written that way," Voldemort held up the book so that Harry could see the cover. Harry squinted at it, frowning. All that he could see were complex squiggles and shapes that didn't make any sense.

"You sure? I can't make out a word."

Alas, some emotion showed on Voldemort's face – complete and utter shock. "Are you serious?"

Harry pouted, not liking that it was apparently such a big deal. "It just looks like shapes and squiggly lines."

"The boy can't even read Parseltongue..." Voldemort said it more to himself than to Harry, and shook his head in disappointment. "Honestly, Harry, you are the biggest waste of potential that the world has ever known. Next, you'll say you can't even translate _runes!"_

"I can't actually," Harry said, smirking now, because clearly his ignorance disturbed Voldemort even more than it disturbed him, which made it a good thing, rather than bad. "Runes hasn't been a mandatory course at Hogwarts since nineteen seventy-two. It ended just in time for Sirius to not have to take it." He grinned at the look of absolute horror on Voldemort's face.

"You are _going _to be able to read and write fluently in both alphabets within the next decade, Harry. Which would you like to learn first?"

Harry groaned. "I guess Parseltongue. If for nothing else, it'll be interesting to read something by another parselmouth. I can see it now: '_Muggles Are Dumb and Stinky_' by Salazar Slytherin, and the sequel: '_Yeah, What He Said_,' by Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"I will have you know that neither Salazar Slytherin nor myself have published any books, and if we had – they would certainly be about more important things than muggle bashing."

Harry snorted. "Right, of course. He'd also have written _'Godric Gryffindor is a Poo-Poo Head' _and then you'd have: _'So is Harry Potter,"_

"Enough of that."

Harry sighed, knowing that his fun was over. He looked back down at the annoyingly complicated defrosting spell and frowned. "So if that book isn't by Salazar Slytherin, who else wrote books in Parseltongue?"

Voldemort, seeing that clearly he would not be allowed to read in peace, closed his book. "Quite a few of Slytherin's descendants wrote books. The first to write a book completely in Parseltongue was his daughter, and after that two of her three sons. This is by one of them. The author's name is Cadmus Peverell, I'm sure you're familiar with his brother, as you own his cloak."

Now it was Harry's turn to look shocked and horrified. "The Peverell Brothers were Slytherin's _grandsons?_"

Harry was not certain whether or not he was more surprised to hear _that_, or to learn that Voldemort knew he owned a cloak that supposedly hid a person from death and hadn't forced him to hand it over yet.

"Think about it, Harry – three ambitions men, who manage to create three of the most invaluable objects the world has ever seen. What do these objects grant?" Voldemort held up his wand, "Anitoch's hallow grants power, which is every Slytherin's desire, is it not?"

Then, Voldemort reached into the pocket of his cloak, and to Harry's complete and utter mortification – pulled out the Gaunt Ring, with the resurrection stone intact. "Cadmus desired the ability to wake the dead, something that Salazar Slytherin himself was so fascinated with that it killed him in the end."

Voldemort casually put the ring back in his pocket, as if it was absolutely normal to have it there and Harry had never dropped the stone in the first place. "And Ignotus' cloak? Let's think – are there any Slytherins we both know who've tried hiding from death?"

"Okay, okay – so the Hallows are pretty Slytherin in nature. But my family comes from the Peverell line. It's a bit hard to believe that after all that drama in second year, I really _am _Slytherin's heir after all."

"_Of course you are," _Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue, _"You didn't actually think that my horcrux was enough to grant you the language of snakes, did you? All it did was awaken the part of you that was already a Slytherin when you were born."_

Harry frowned. He was much more wound up about this than he'd like to admit to himself, but he didn't want Voldemort to know that. The only solution he could think up was to change the subject, or go back to his reading as if nothing had happened. Another look at the boring tome in his lap and the choice was easy.

"Are we going to stay in this house forever?" Harry asked. It wasn't actually what he'd meant to have said, but he realized that he was rather curious about his future. At first, he'd been completely unconcerned with it, because it was just so _long. _He was going to live forever – why think too hard on something as close as tomorrow? Or even a year from now? But he was bored. Horrifically so. He needed to do _something_.

"That is up to you, Harry. You'll note that _I _have left the manor several times. It's you who seems so reluctant to go anywhere."

"I haven't the foggiest idea where to go or how to get there, that's all. You already told me that you think we should stick together in the outside world, at least until I've bettered myself magically, and I agree with that. I just don't know where we should _go_! I mean, my whole life I was either trapped at Privet Drive against my will or willingly kept locked up in Hogwarts, or Order Headquarters, or the Burrow."

Voldemort rolled his eyes at Harry's ongoing refusal to speak the address of the Order's base. He knew it was the Black House, but Harry still would never confirm it, even though the house was no longer safe for the Light, and Voldemort had been there already.

"I mean, honestly Tom," Harry continued, "The most freedom of travel that I've ever had was when I was hunting Horcruxes, and I didn't exactly try to take the scenic route anywhere, you know?"

Voldemort snorted with amusement. "_Hunting _Horcruxes, Harry? Foolish child, they're not _Deer, _they're soul shards. Couldn't you think of a more appropriate word? Besides, how on earth did you think that would have ended? Suicide?"

"Actually I didn't know that I was one until the night of the final battle."

Voldemort frowned thoughtfully, and mulled that over in his mind. He knew that Dumbledore must have known. He disliked the man, and even would go so far as to say that he didn't have any respect for him either – but he did acknowledge that the old coot was rather intelligent. Most likely, Albus had neglected to tell the boy about the fact that he was a horcrux. How … rude.

"I suppose that if you're that travel-deficient, we'll have to start with the basics."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

But his companion simply looked back at Cadmus Peverell's book.

**The Potter Estate – 2005**

Voldemort was in a particularly poor mood when he entered the library of The Potter Estate. It did not lift one single bit when he saw that one _Harry _Potter was snoring lightly sprawled out on the floor of said library, with his face nuzzled inside of a very, _very _ancient tome.

"You'll damage the spine that way, boy." Voldemort spat out, snatching the book up from beneath Harry's head, hearing an audible _clunk _as the younger man's skull hit the hard-wood floor.

"OW!" Harry yelped, immediately sitting up and rubbing his hand across the damaged area of his forehead. "Was that _really _necessary, Tom? Mightn't a simple 'hullo' have done fine enough?"

Voldemort wordlessly and wandlessly blocked several wordless and wandless stinging hex's that Harry was now sending towards his face. The still and silent assault continued for only a few moments longer before Harry gave up, with an audible huff of frustration. Voldemort noticed offhandedly that the boy's magic had certainly much improved over the past few years, but his mind was too focused on more concerning things to make full observation of this fact.

He did allow himself to be slightly impressed when Potter managed to block the stinging hex that he sent back, though.

With a resigned sigh, Harry stood up and walked over to one of the comfy chairs in the far corner of the room, saying nothing until Voldemort sat down across from him.

"So, are you going to tell me what's got you in such a foul mood?"

"Lucius was attacked by a few remaining members of the Order and has been hospitalized," Voldemort explained, conjuring a cup of tea for himself and ignoring the annoyed glare that he received when no beverage appeared for Harry.

"I'm surprised that you care. I thought you didn't _have _friends." Harry teased, conjuring himself a mug of hot cocoa that was distinctly larger and more extravagant than Voldemort's tea cup, and blowing it lightly.

"I _don't _care," The man replied, looking pointedly at Harry's drink as if to suggest that the Malfoy family's misfortune wasn't the only thing he didn't care about, "The problem is: he was the only person I trusted enough to handle the financial investments and responsibilities of my political funds, and now as it is, I've been up to my neck in work that I'd much rather not be bothered with."

Harry licked some whipped cream from his upper lip. "If it's political stuff, shouldn't someone at the ministry be handling it, anyway?" He asked, before diving headfirst into his heaps of frothy white goodness and making a delighted sound in the back of his throat.

Voldemort took a small bit of time to first consider whether he was more fascinated or disgusted by Harry's behavior, and then addressed his question. "My current political position is as myself – The Dark Lord Voldemort. It's completely separate from the British Ministry of Magic, though I do also have an absurd amount of sway in the Wizengamot right now. In fact, a law hasn't been passed that I haven't personally approved since two-thousand-one."

"Hmmm," Harry mused, closing his eyes and swishing some cocoa around between his cheeks. "You should just go on and fix that face of yours, I think."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fix your face. With the right look, you could run for Minister. Focus on world domination and your more dark causes with the front of Lord Voldemort. Run for Minister under a different name, and then fight yourself. If you claim to be a minister running for the Light side, they'll vote for you, and if Lord Voldemort secretly backs you, you can sweep the election with your own followers voting for you as well. However, with that face, you're too recognizable, and your body right now is too inhuman to uphold a glamor for more than a few hours. So, fixing your face is the first step, for sure."

Voldemort closed his eyes, and folded his hands neatly in his lap, leaving his tea cup hovering in the air. Harry considered sneaking a dollop of whipped cream into it, because he knew the Dark Lord hated sweet things – but instead decided that he'd rather have all the cream for himself and licked up another mouthful of it from his mug.

"And when this generation fades into nonexistence, their children will not fear Lord Voldemort enough to riot when he forms an alliance with their minister, because they will not remember the war, and they will know only what they are _told _of it, from the people I choose to tell them."

Harry nodded, and drank a large number of gulps from his mug. Voldemort wondered if the idiot child had charmed that mug into being bottomless. Probably so.

"Is there any reason that you're so comfortable all of a sudden with assisting me in world domination?"

Harry shrugged, and balanced his mug precariously on his crossed leg. "I'm just bored as all fuck, so why not take over the world or something?" He replied with a yawn.

"I find your boredom to be … excruciatingly bothersome. All that you do is sit around talking about how you sit around. It's no fault of mine that you're so miserable. Perhaps you should find yourself some entertainment?"

"I want to do something fun, but there's nothing fun to do here. I know you _say _I can travel, but then whenever I ask you say no, and won't remove the apparation wards. I feel like I escaped a two year prison sentence in Riddle Manor, only to get trapped inside my family home. It was nice of you to show me this place and everything, but it's so _boring_!"

Voldemort sighed. "Fine. What do you want to do?"

"I dunno, maybe just something interesting instead of all these books? I've read nearly all of them already. And… I know I only _look _seventeen, but I _am _a twenty-five year virgin here. I mean, you could at least have hired a prostitute or _something _to keep me entertained all this time..."

Voldemort looked at Harry very curiously then, cocking his head slightly to the side, before getting up from his seat and walking towards the room's exit, "It's none of my concern what you do with your time or your _cock_, Potter – just as long as you don't get in my way and don't create any offspring that you aren't willing to give up with they die without you."

With that, he left – taking down the apparation wards along with him.

**The Gaunt House – 2008**

Today marked the tenth year since everything had changed. Harry's calendar had told him so, but he didn't need it to. It was like he could feel it. A whole decade. That seemed like a long time, but he knew that as time went on it would seem shorter. Several of his friends had children now. They seemed to accept that he must have died in the war, even though his body was never found. Now he tended to wear glamor's when he went out, so that he couldn't be recognized.

But here, he didn't need a glamor. Because no one here would recognize him. Little Hangleton was just as neglected and out-of-touch as it had always been, and he walked freely down the street until he was exactly between two places that he was quite familiar with. On his right was Riddle Manor, the former home of Tom Riddle Senior and his family. Harry had lived there for two years, he remembered, and it had been just as boring in there as it was everywhere else.

To his left was The Gaunt House, usually empty and desolate. At this point, it was just as desolate, but as Harry walked over to it, a familiar wave of magic revealed that the small run-down shack of a house wasn't empty.

Good. He had hope that Tom would be here. Who else could possibly understand the monumental emotions that Harry was suffering?

Actually, Tom wouldn't understand either – but Harry had explored the world to his heart's content and still never felt as entertained as he did when he was around The Dark Lord.

Shoving his feelings into a dark place within his mind and calling them forgotten, Harry opened the door to the house. The sight he was struck with was not something he had expected or ever wanted to see.

The room was bare but for several runes carved into stones and placed ceremonially around an absurdly large cauldron. Within the cauldron, there was a bubbling lavender liquid, but none of that was what caught Harry's attention.

Voldemort was inside of the cauldron, as well. Completely nude. With Nagini wrapped around his torso.

"Well this is awkward … I'll just leave you two to it then," Harry murmured out, turning to leave, hopefully before Voldemort started having crazy ancient rune-sex with his familiar.

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that thought, Harry." The man announced, snorting when Harry tried and failed to shield his thoughts with Occlumency. "You need to master that," Voldemort announced in reference to Harry's unprotected thoughts, "But as for what you're thinking, I am actually in the process of doing something you suggested a few years back. It's taken me a while to figure out how, is all."

Harry frowned. "Tom, When did I ever suggest that you get _naked_ with an _animal _and _cook yourself_?" He inquired, noticing the wild but contained fire beneath the cauldron. "I mean I know you're a creepy motherfucker but this is just … _gross_! Even for you!"

Voldemort sighed, "I am working on a potion that will give me the body of Tom Riddle. This potion uses soul magic, which means that clothing is a no-no, and also means I need to have myself and one of my Horcruxes in the cauldron with me at all times in order to keep it stabilized."

Harry sighed, and leaned against the wall, deciding that he might as well just try to stop being awkward about this. "Who would've thought that I'd see the same person standing naked in a cauldron twice in one lifetime?" He mused, biting at his nails, and collecting the bits he'd chewed off in one hand so they wouldn't get into the rune circle and mess up the ritual or whatever Voldemort was doing.

He remained silent for nearly two hours and watched Voldemort work, no longer phased by the man's nakedness. The potion was giving off a lovely scent now, but Harry knew better than to step into the circle. Voldemort looked up suddenly as if he was about to say something, but then changed his mind.

"What? Did you need some thumb-nails of the bored-to-death, willingly given?" Harry asked, holding out his hand dramatically in parody of Wormtail.

"Actually I need a virgin's semen, and I was wondering if you ever got round to getting yourself a prostitute after all."

Harry stared at the man, even more shocked than he had been when he'd come in. In truth, he was still a virgin, but what was he supposed to do? Wank into a little cup and pour it into the cauldron? He could feel his cock trying to shrink at the thought.

"Ew!" He hollered, knowing that Voldemort must think him terribly inarticulate, but not caring at that moment, "Just – ew. Okay? _Ew, _man!"

Voldemort laughed, a high and disturbing sound.

"I will take that to mean that yes, you are still a virgin, but are unwilling to assist me. No matter. I suppose I'll just go find some thirteen year old boy who'll do this for me instead..."

"Now wait just a minute!" Harry protested, shoving his discarded fingernails into his jeans pocket in a way that was strangely aggressive. "Don't go threatening to become a pedophile just because I won't do something! It's not fair!"

Voldemort raised a nonexistent eyebrow and smirked, "I'm sorry, Harry, but at what point have I ever implied that I wanted to make your life fair?"

Harry frowned. It was a good point. Still, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place here. He couldn't let Voldemort go out and molest some poor little boy just because he was resistant to help the evil bastard...

"Fine. I'll do it." He said, before frowning as he went to unbutton his jeans. "Umm … I'd step into the other room, but this is basically the only room not destroyed, so turn around."

"Actually the semen has to be produced inside of the cauldron, so you should go on and step over here once you've rid yourself of those clothes."

Harry gawked at Voldemort in horror and disbelief. But, summoning up his Gryffindor courage, he disrobed and walked over to the cauldron. It was surprisingly cool to the touch as he climbed in, considering the fact that the potion looked to be boiling and there was definitely a fire going underneath it.

When Harry was fully inside of the cauldron, Nagini slithered out.

"I thought you said you needed one of your Horcruxes in here to stabilize the soul magic?"

Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow, looking at Harry's forehead pointedly.

"Oh, right … I forgot for a second," Harry rambled, looking anywhere but down at his own nakedness. His hands were covering himself well enough, but he was only inches away from Voldemort's body, and with a lifetime of knowing this man he still couldn't simply ignore the fact that they were so close and so _naked_.

"You must have a dirty mind indeed if you think that standing here doing nothing is going to produce any semen."

"You know, I was one thought away from orgasm but you ruined it with your voice." Harry responded sarcastically.

Voldemort wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and leaned in closely so that his lip-less mouth was brushing against Harry's ear. _"Would it be better if I spoke like thisss?" _He hissed in Parseltongue. His tongue darted out in a snake-like manor, caressing Harry's neck lightly, and for a moment, Harry thought that maybe Voldemort ought to stay this way just so that they could further explore the wonders of a forked tongue.

Realizing what he'd just been thinking, Harry's eyes widened and he choked in horrified frustration. There was no way that he was actually getting turned on by Tom, was there? Hold on, since when was Voldemort _Tom _even in his head? He only called the bastard Tom because he knew that Tom didn't like it … Holy fuck! He'd just thought of him as Tom again! What the hell?

"_You're thinking too much, sweet child. Right now you need only feel."_

Harry did feel. He felt To-Voldemort's hand running lightly down his torso. The long fingers were almost dainty in their movements, but still a certain lethality oozed out of everything about this man, and instead of being afraid, Harry found himself responding to it. Adoring it – daring it to swallow him up and teach him everything about death and pain and _lust._

Was he hard? Yes. He could feel it. Tom-Vol- Oh fuck it, _Tom_'s hand was swatting his away, and now took a firm grip on his still-hardening shaft. That exquisite tongue was doing delicious things to his neck, and Harry decided to give in.

His cock hardened even more, and he whimpered at the feeling of Tom's cold hand stroking it roughly. Being touched by Tom's scaly skin felt like realizing you're about to die. Everything in Harry's instincts were telling him to run far away – telling him to _escape. _He could feel his mind screaming at him that this man was dangerous. This man hardly had a soul. This man had tried to kill him before, and would gladly kill him again.

Harry's breath went short at the thought of it. He didn't care. He didn't care what Voldemort, or Tom, or whoever else had done to him. He let his head collapse onto Tom's chest, and panted heavily as Tom's wrist twisted around his length in a way that was painful but good.

"How many people have you killed?" Harry breathed out, noticing the hot stickiness of drool exiting his mouth and caking against the spot where his cheek met the Dark Lord's chest.

"Why?" Tom asked, not seizing his motions on Harry's penis.

"I want to know."

"Perhaps another time."

"I want to know _now_."

Tom sighed, and let his other hand squeeze at Harry's balls in a way that could only be described as violently arousing. "Will it make you ejaculate into this potion if I tell you?"

"Maybe."

"Six-hundred-and-forty-two. Four-hundred-and-seven Muggles. One-hundred-and-seventy-three muggle-borns. Fifty-Five half-bloods. Seven purebloods."

Harry's breath hitched when Voldemort began pumping him harder and faster as he spoke.

"_Do you remember every single time?" _Harry hissed out, not realizing that he had slipped into Parseltongue as his pleasure intensified.

"_Yesss."_

"_Do you like the way it feels when you murder someone, Tom?"_

"_I do."_

"_Can you imagine how it would feel to finally murder __**me**__?"_

Harry gasped. Voldemort gripped him like a vice, his hand moving at what had to be lightning speed. But that wasn't what was so amazing about the moment. No, it was that Harry could _feel _it. With every cell in his body and every emotion of his soul he could _feel _Tom's desire to murder him. It shot through him like hot fire, and he moaned loudly as he felt himself spasm and begin to shoot his seed into Tom's hands.

Of course Tom killed. Of course wars were fought. Hatred was good, and powerful, and vibrating through Harry's bones. Why would a person like Tom ever depend on love when hate was so strong, and so full of lust and passion?

As Harry's panting subsided, he closed his eyes and sat down in the cauldron, knowing that every drop that may have landed on his thighs should be used. He expected to feel awkward now, but he did not. He had wanted to know what it would feel like to be in the throes of hatred, and he had gotten it. It was only that he hadn't realized he'd wanted it in the first place until just then.

"If that's what truly hating someone feels like then I hope I never fall in love." Harry said, groggily.

Tom snorted, and sat down in the cauldron as well, and Harry could tell from the sound that he'd dunked his head under the liquid for a moment.

"Love is what causes us to desire life. Hate provides the means to endure it. One cannot exist without the other. Even I have things that I love, I simply try to make sure they are things that I will never lose. Falling in love would be difficult, I think, because it could become painful if the other person stops loving you or stops living – but mutual hatred for someone will never let you down. Even if they stop hating you, you can hate them for that. If they stop living, you can rejoice in their death."

Harry hmmed as he let that roll around in his mind, and then blinked his eyes open when he heard Tom climbing out of the cauldron.

"Whoa..." Harry murmured, squinting his eyes. "You're Tom Riddle!"

Tom sighed, and conjured up some clothes, putting them on nonchalantly. "More so than usual, yes. That _is _what we just did all of that _for, _remember?"

"Why do you look so young?" Harry asked, taking in the dapper looks of Tom. His hair was ebony black, and slightly wavy, but slicked back. His eyes were still red, but it looked attractive on his face. His skin was still frighteningly pale, but not so horribly that you could see all of his veins. No scales in sight. He looked maybe thirty years old.

"Because I used the horcrux inside of you instead of Nagini, I'm a great deal younger than I was expecting, actually. I am the age exactly between the age of my soul when I made my last horcrux, and the age of your soul when you made your first. So... around thirty-six or so, I believe. I will look this way forever, but that's not too troublesome, I suppose."

Harry already missed the forked-tongue, but he chose to ignore that thought, instead finding himself focusing on how good-looking Tom had become. He really hadn't expected this. He'd expected some wrinkly old man who the Wizarding world would gladly sign itself over to, because everyone trusts wrinkly old men – just ask Dumbledore.

Instead, he was struck with a handsome middle-aged Tom Riddle, who looked confident and devious in a way that was actually sort of pleasant, once you got a little used to it.

This was certainly sure to be an interesting election.

**Number 4 Privet Drive – 2009**

It was a disturbing thing to finally track down Harry's magical signature here, of all places. He knew that the young Gryffindor was hiding from him, and he had to admit that it was a rather good hiding spot. After all, there weren't many locations that the Potter boy despised more. However, considering that he was trying not to be disturbed, it was somewhat obvious for him to hide somewhere that it was doubted he'd go back to.

Not bothering to knock on the front door, as he knew that Harry would most likely pretend that he hadn't heard it, Voldemort simply unlocked it with a casual wave of his hand and stepped inside.

Harry's location was getting increasingly interesting.

Voldemort stopped just outside of the cupboard under the stairs, and raised an eyebrow at the sheer amount of wards placed over it. Shaking his head, he called out to the young man.

"Don't make me rip these wards down, Harry. I will not do it gently and I have no desire to see you magically fatigued."

Not receiving an answer, he examined the wards a little more closely, taking in each layer of twisted shining magic and smirking to himself as with one strong pull and a tap of his wand they all crumbled and the door sprang open.

Harry screamed and quickly tried to turn away from the Dark Lord, but there wasn't really room for that much movement in the cupboard and thus, Voldemort was given a fairly clear view of what the silly child had been up to.

"This is a very odd place to come for self-inflicted pleasure, isn't it?" He asked, letting his eyes sweep downwards to where Harry was quickly trying to shove his still-hard cock back into his trousers.

"Well I can't very well wank anywhere else, can I? When you used me instead of Nagini for that potion you might have mentioned that it would make the soul bond we already have about twenty times stronger, you know. I know that you don't seem to mind getting laid even though I can feel your arousal the whole time but _I _am not _you _and if I have to travel the world to get a single moment without you picking up on every single bloody thing that I feel, then I'll do it!"

Voldemort cocked his head slightly and looked into Harry's eyes, smashing his way rudely through the still-quite-inadequate walls of Occlumency and taking a peek at Harry's mind. He chuckled darkly at what he saw.

"So that's it. You know that I can sense your arousal and you're afraid that I will be able to tell that it's me you're fantasizing about."

Groaning in embarrassment, Harry collapsed somewhat backwards into the cupboard wall. "Didn't I put _wards _on that door?"

"Yes. So many, and so heavily, that you couldn't even tell when someone was approaching them. They were also quite easy to break. Remember, Harry: Wards are an art of intricacy, it is-"

"Easier to snap a branch than a finely woven rope. I know, I know."

Voldemort nodded, and knelt down, squeezing into the cupboard with Harry so that both of them were squished tightly into the space, forcing their bodies flush against each other. He felt Harry flinch slightly, probably in pleasure, as his thigh mashed into the younger man's erection.

"I know that you know, Harry." He murmured, looking very deeply into the Gryffindor's eyes, but this time without the purpose of legilimency. "I know that you know how to set up proper wards. Like the one on the doorway that you assumed I wouldn't notice, alerting you to my arrival."

He leaned downwards some, and ran his tongue across Harry's bottom lip, though he didn't truly kiss him. "I know that you know how soul magic works. You found all of my Horcruxes because you are one. You know that I am _your _Horcrux and thus will always be able to find _you _no matter where you hide, and you know that this house was an obvious hiding spot in the first place."

Harry shivered and gasped lightly when Voldemort bit down on his earlobe before whispering huskily into it. "You know that I have desired you sexually since receiving this new body, and I know that you have desired me as well. What you did _not _know was how to move forward from that point which is why you are now attempting to seduce me without having to actually make it seem as if that's what you're doing."

Harry smiled, beautifully, and with some degree of difficulty, managed to wrap his arms around the back of Voldemort's neck, pulling the man down for a kiss. If it were to be described in two words, this kiss was violent and _wet, _though not because either of them were crying.

Teeth clashed and tongues battled, and Harry whimpered, trying to press his cock more firmly against Voldemort's thigh.

"I think," Voldemort said, his voice deceptively calm and even, "That this would be a difficult location to further these activities."

The response he received was a sound of disapproval, made in the back of Harry's throat. Clearly the foolish boy thought that this cupboard could suffice.

"I also am not sure if I think this should continue at all," Voldemort admitted, thinking the situation over a bit more. "We're stuck together for an eternity, Harry. I'll not have our relationship getting awkward and uncomfortable because you're pining for a one-off."

"Then don't make it a one-off." Harry responded, heatedly, "You already know how I feel about you. You're too attentive not to have noticed by now."

Voldemort stood up as best he could, and squeezed out of the small space under the stairs, giving Harry a hand up as well so that they stood in the hallway.

"You do not truly love me, Harry. You only think that you do because you've isolated yourself from everyone else. What you have is some sort of peculiar case of Stockholm Syndrome in which I needn't have kidnapped you in the first place."

Harry shook his head insistently. "Don't lecture me on love, Tom. You know absolutely nothing about it. If I say I love you then I do – and I love you, Tom. I'm saying it. You know that I do. It's why I can't stand to fucking _be _around you! Because I don't understand how I can travel the whole world and see everything there is to see, and all that I want is still a single moment of your attention. That's what love _is_! It's knowing that if you could have nothing else in your life but the people you love, it'd be okay… and that's how I feel. I don't love you because I isolate myself. I isolate myself because I love you! I don't even care if you can't love me back, because-"

"Can't I?" Voldemort asked, looking at Harry very intensely, "And who is it that told you that? Dumbledore? Does he know me so well?"

Voldemort watched as Harry slowly walked towards him, a look of concentrated confusion about his face, though his green eyes held hope. "Are you saying-"

"You will never hear me say it, Harry. Never." Voldemort jumped slightly as young lips crashed desperately against his in a harsh and chaste motion.

Harry was grinning harder than he ever had, and Voldemort admitted privately to himself that he would perhaps like to keep the boy smiling that way more often.

"Then you've already said enough," Harry responded, kissing the elder man softly and releasing a contented sigh. "It won't be a one-off Tom, I promise," He assured, pulling Voldemort down onto the floor of the hall.

Voldemort let the child melt into him, and set about causing Harry as much pleasure as he could. As he entered the Gryffindor, and let their bodies pound together, he had a moment of thought. Perhaps, in some other universe parallel to their lives, he had killed Harry Potter, or Harry Potter had killed him. Perhaps, the moment he killed Harry would have been the beginning of his life as a Dark Lord, or perhaps, Harry killing him would have been the beginning of Harry's life as a man free to live without concern.

But now there was no turning back. He had, by some odd force of nature, grown to love this young man, and Harry loved him back. There would be no new beginnings. This love, this passion – was some other beginning's end.

But whatever other beginning there could have been, Voldemort was glad that it was over.

**The Gaunt House – 2011**

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and climbed down the ladder slowly and carefully, making sure not to touch the wet walls as he did so. He turned around, and rolled his eyes, seeing a very relaxed looking Tom Riddle, reading as he sat on a chair that was dark green at the very top and otherwise a crème white.

"You know, when I asked if you wanted to help me with this, I meant you should _actually _paint, not transfigure your paint brush into a chair and leave me with all the work," Harry said, dropping his own brush onto the tarp-covered floor and walking over to his lover.

"And as I said, if you want me to make the walls green, I can do that – but your idiotic muggle methods are preposterous."

Harry simply smiled, forever amused by Tom's constant opposition to muggle activity. "Painting is _fun_, Tom." He assured, ruffling the man's perfect hair and only allowing himself to be slightly jealous when it went right back to its previous state of immaculacy. "You've read that book already," He commented, noticing the cover of the potions tome that Tom had been reading, "I know that because _I've _read that book already."

"I am re-reading it because I'm trying to develop a _new _potion at the moment." Tom replied, turning the page.

"Why? You're not trying to go back to looking like a snake because you've already sealed the position of minister, are you?" He asked worriedly.

Harry liked to think that Voldemort had become a lot more sane since becoming minister. It was probably due to the fact that he wasn't having to kill people any longer. Whether you made a Horcrux or not, killing was horrid for the soul, and on top of that, he had Harry and Nagini around almost all the time, so it wasn't like his soul was being stretched across the globe anymore. And while love wasn't quite the same as remorse, it was also a good healer to a damaged soul. All in all, he preferred the Tom he'd come to know over the past years to the psychotic megalomaniac that had been trying to kill him for so long.

"No, I am not. What I'm doing, is trying to create a potion to enable the possibility of male pregnancy."

Harry froze. He opened his mouth several times and shut it back several times more. Male pregnancy? Tom had clearly lost his god damn mind.

"There is no way in hell!" Harry yelled, kicking over the paint can in a fit of aggression, "How can you just try to make up a potion on male fucking pregnancy without talking to me first! What, are you planning on slipping it to me and just having me wake up one day with your fucking demon spawn inside of me and no logical explanation why?"

Raising an eyebrow at Harry's fury, Voldemort calmly shut his book. "Obviously I'm not trying to keep it a secret from you, or else I wouldn't have just _told _you, now would I?"

Even so, Harry was upset. "That would be rational if anyone else said it, sure – but I _know _you, Tom! You wouldn't be trying to create the potion if you didn't already have your mind made up about having a baby! I don't fucking _want _a baby! Did you ever consider that?"

"Don't want a baby… or don't want mine?" Tom asked, looking at Harry with a completely guarded expression.

"I don't want to love something that's going to _die, _Tom!" Harry wailed, collapsing to the floor and burying his face in his hands, "I don't want to go through that, okay? I already hate watching all my old friends age while I stay looking like this. How can you expect me to raise a child and bury it all in the same century while I live on grieving for an eternity?"

Tom sighed, and knelt down on the floor, wrapping Harry in his arms. "I do not want a _child, _Harry. I want an heir. Even if I live forever, at some point I will want to retire in my own way. You and I are Slytherin's only descendants left, now. Someone will have to take over the family estates and welfare eventually. I don't want to find some high-born woman to impregnate just so that I can have an heir, Harry. I want it to be you."

Harry sniffled slightly, and buried his face in Tom's chest. "I love you, Tom…" He murmured, "But I don't know if I can do this … I know what you're thinking. You think that we can simply remain emotionally detached from the child and raise it to be the perfect little Slytherin and just keep it moving, but that's not how I am. If I carry this little person inside of me, I'll love it the minute it's born. I know that – _you _know that!"

"You're strong enough to love and lose, Harry. We can have more children if you wish. There will be more for you to love. Perhaps they'll choose immortality rather than death, as we have. Just love them as much as you must while you can, and I promise – you will survive this."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry nodded. It was a big decision but the truth was that he _did _want a baby – he just was horrified by the knowledge that he might out-live it. Parents losing their children wasn't natural, and it wasn't something that he wanted to experience, but ultimately, he had to realize that he shouldn't let it stop him from having a baby. He loved Tom, and he knew that as tough as Tom liked to act, Tom would be a good father – even if that meant taking a step back and letting Harry be the one who raised their child.

Sensing the change in his lover's attitude, Tom kissed his forehead and smiled. "See? And you've been fixing up this house anyway. If we have a daughter, I'll let her have it when she grows up."

Harry snorted, "Not even born yet and you're already so overprotective that you want her living right across the street?"

**The Potter Estate – 2013**

Voldemort was making his way slowly up the grand marble stairway of the Potter estate when he heard the crash coming from upstairs, shaking his head fondly, he continued on his way upwards until he reached the room that the sound had come from.

The minute he stepped into the room, all but one of the inhabitants bowed down to him. The man still standing crossed his arms over his chest attitudinally and glared hard. Voldemort snorted, but said nothing, walking over to the now broken window and peering curiously out of it. He smiled at what he saw.

"Bastard had it coming for years," Harry insisted, and Voldemort heard Yaxley trying not to laugh from his bowed position.

"Are you telling me, Harry," Voldemort asked, "That you had a completely sound reason for blasting Draco Malfoy through this window," Even as he said it, he lifted his wand and repaired the shattered glass casually.

"Course I did," Harry responded, jutting his chin out defiantly, "He was being a prat. I don't want him here anyway. This is a very personal day for me and it's none of Malfoy's bloody business."

"Lucius, please go and make sure that your son had the sense to pull his wand out fast enough to avoid breaking his neck. No matter what my consort says, Draco is still of some use to me."

"Yes my lord," Lucius mumbled, before rising to go check on his son.

"Did you not consider, Harry, that the broken glass might have harmed the baby?"

"Yeah right. With all these fucking wards you've got on my stomach there's no way in hell. Why do I even have to have the baby here, Tom? I _hate _it here! It's so boring!"

At that point a mediwizard cleared his throat carefully, "If you don't mind my intrusion, Minister, the child will come at any moment now, we may want to lay Lord Potter down on the be-"

"HOLY _FUCK! _OW! OWIE-OW-OW-OW!"

Voldemort's Magic caught Harry before he could fall and levitated him gently onto the bed. Harry was screaming and convulsing and Voldemort had a slight moment of wondering if perhaps this was a bad idea after all before the mediwizards ushered him quickly out of the room.

Voldemort didn't realize how much Harry's pain disturbed him until he caught himself casting a muffling charm on the wall that now separated them.

He took a seat on the cushioned hallway bench outside of the room Harry was in and breathed deeply, not sure if he was more or less concerned now that he couldn't hear the screaming.

"Even for women, it's excruciatingly painful, my Lord." Lucius commented, trying to reassure Voldemort though in truth the Minister was actually annoyed by the statement. Of course he knew childbirth was painful. Everyone knew that childbirth was painful, and it was logical that it would hurt a man more than a woman, but still…

"Were you able to determine the gender, my Lord?" This time it was Draco speaking, and Voldemort sighed, not in the mood for conversation.

"It is a boy." He answered, too emotionally wound up to punish either Malfoy for their incessant questioning.

"And have you and Lord Potter decided on a name for him?"

Voldemort didn't even pay attention to which of those damned blonds were speaking to him this time. "Arius Tureis Riddle." He answered, "Heir to houses Slytherin and Potter."

"Both?" Draco asked. Voldemort was sure it was Draco, because Lucius wouldn't have been so idiotic as to question him.

"There are two ways to pass on the title of True Blood Heir," Lucius explained quietly to his son, "The first is to have two parents who are heirs to the same house – the second is to be born in the family estate of a family whose blood you possess. Our Lord and Lord Potter are both heirs to the Slytherin house, and Arius is being born at The Potter Estate, with Potter blood in his veins. He's just as much heir to one as he is to the other."

Draco nodded, and Voldemort was trying very hard not to pull his own hair out. He removed the muffling charm. He _had _to hear.

Harry was still screaming … "Why is he still screaming?" Voldemort murmured to himself, "Why must it harm him for any longer than a moment?"

Lucius knew better than to answer. Voldemort knew that it wasn't safe to use any numbing spells or potions on someone in labor because they might not be able to feel the baby well enough to push if the spell or potion was too strong. He knew these things – but knowledge wasn't helping Harry feel better.

For the first time, he regretted freezing Harry's physical growth at the age of seventeen. Perhaps if he'd let Harry's body mature properly it wouldn't be so painful.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the screaming came to a stop. Voldemort knew that meant it was very likely that only a wall was now separating him from his child.

"Are you excited to see him, my Lord?" Draco asked, probably remembering his own emotions when his son had been born. Voldemort vaguely recalled that Draco's wife was now pregnant with twins.

"Of course not," He answered, "This child is my _heir _not my _son. _There is a difference. I'm certain that your father taught you that."

And he wasn't excited. Rather, he was quite nervous. He was nervous that Harry wasn't screaming because he was too hurt to scream. He was concerned with why he couldn't hear the baby crying. He was afraid that he was – for the first time in his life – in over his head.

**Riddle Manor – 2017**

Harry glanced at the clock and frowned deeply. It was nearly three in the morning and he was still working on Tom's bloody paperwork. He had no idea what had possessed him to agree to taking on Lucius Malfoy's job until Tom found a replacement for the blond arse-face.

Okay, he had _some _idea. Tom had been so stressed out about Lucius' death and the resulting paperwork that he'd been too unfocussed to have sex for the past few weeks and that was just _not _okay. Or, at least that _was _Harry's logic for it. It's not like they had any time for sex anyway now that Harry was spending his days with Arius and his nights doing all the damn paperwork that Lucius had insisted on dying before completing.

Honestly! People had just been dropping dead at the absolute most inconvenient times lately! First Arthur Weasley died, and with Voldemort having already openly won the war, it wasn't easy to find someone to take over his position at the ministry, because everyone who would have been good at the job was too bloody scared to admit they had a genuine compassion for Muggles.

That ultimately just made for more fucking paperwork. Harry was finally understanding why Tom had ever kept Lucius around in the first place.

Dipping his quill back into the ink, he looked down at the next thing to be read over and stopped short when he heard a scream. Immediately recognizing the scream as his son's voice, Harry quickly ran up to Arius' room, looking around at the child's toddler bed and seemingly endless toys, books, and miscellaneous treasures. Arius was quite spoiled, but Harry wasn't fazed by the boy's absurd amount of belongings. Rather, he was too focused on the fact that Arius himself was absent from the room.

He knew he'd heard him scream. Where was he?

Harry began a top to bottom search of Riddle Manor, starting with the attic and working his way down through the various dens, tea rooms, kitchens, bathrooms, and whatever else. Going into an all-out panic as he continued to search, he decided that he needed to wake Tom and let him know that Arius was missing.

Harry let out a deep and relaxed breath when he opened his bedroom door and saw that not only was Tom awake, but Arius was with him, cradled safely in Tom's perfectly safe and capable arms. Thank _God_!

"Daddy, how come I can't make out any words this time?" Arius asked in his childish voice, squinting carefully at the book that Tom was reading aloud to him. Tom paused in his reading to answer the question.

"This copy is written in runes, Arius. You haven't learnt to read them yet. I'll teach you when you're a little older," Tom explained, turning the page and continuing his reading.

"Do you promise? You'll really teach me, Daddy?"

"Yes, son. I'll teach you everything there is to know," Tom assured, gently petting their son's hair. Harry smiled and leaned against the door frame, knowing that Tom must have noticed him by now.

"Do _you _know everything?" The boy inquired, cocking his head at his father.

"Not yet, but I'm closer than most." Harry snorted at that, and stepped fully into the room, still unnoticed by his son as Tom was now reading aloud again. He decided that he couldn't be bothered with anymore paperwork tonight, and began changing into his night clothes quietly, feeling soothed by Tom's gentle yet firm voice as the man read the children's tale.

"Daddy, if Babbity is a Rabbit Animagus then how does she talk from the stump? Animagi can't talk, can they? Papa says that Sirius Black couldn't talk when he was a dog … Was Papa wrong?" The child furrowed his brow in confusion, and Harry smiled seeing that his son's bright green eyes were darkening from tiredness.

"No, Papa was right. Animagi can't speak, but this is a book of fiction, and fiction means that anything your mind can think is possible."

"Kind of like magic!"

Tom kissed his son on the forehead and smiled, "Yes Arius, very much like magic."

He went back to the story and only moments later the deep breathing of a child asleep filled the room. Harry followed Tom as the man carried Arius back to the boy's bedroom and tucked him into bed, pushing his hair gently out of his face.

"You know, after all that talk about how you were going to have an _heir _not a _son, _this is really looking a lot like fatherhood," Harry teased, wrapping his arms around Tom as he took down the apparation wards and apparated them back to their own bedroom, kissing his lover deeply while he put the wards back up.

Tom didn't look nearly as happy as Harry was, and Harry softly kissed the frown lines that were on the elder man's face, silently asking what was wrong.

"He had a nightmare that I tried to kill you in a graveyard…"

Harry froze, not sure what to make of that.

"This is the second time, Harry. First he dreams that you tried to stab me with a basilisk fang and now this? These visions he's having of the past are worrying me for him."

Harry grimaced and sat down heavily on their bed. "Are you worried for _him _or worried of what he'll think of you when he's old enough to realize that these dreams are the truth?"

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively, not entertaining the possibility that he was concerned with his son knowing the truth of his character. "I'm worried that if he's able to see into the past at such a young age, he'll be seeing the future someday and it might not be pretty. I'm worried by the fact that he's already powerful enough to apparated himself to my side without a second thought, straight through the anti-apparation wards, purely by accidental magic born from fear of a simple dream. It's highly abnormal for any wizard to be this magical at his age. I don't care if he _sees _me, Harry – I don't want him to _become _me, and it scares me when I realize that he's strong enough to eventually do exactly that."

"Oh is that all?" Harry asked, offering a gentle smile to his lover and pulling the man into bed. "Trust me, Tom – there's only room for one of _you _in this world. And besides, the things that made you so insane and evil aren't things that Arius will go through. He has two parents that love him, he's a first generation pureblood to two magically respected houses, and there isn't a person in the world who would _dream _of harming a single hair on his pretty little head. You know that. You _made _the world this way for him before you'd consider bringing him into it – something that neither of our parents thought to do for _us._"

Tom nodded, and sat down on the bed beside Harry, "So I have nothing to be worried about?"

Harry shook his head. "We haven't had sex in nearly three weeks. _That _is something to worry about."

Tom laughed lightly and pulled Harry down on top of him, offering a firm kiss. "I can't say you've completely vanished my concerns about Arius," He admitted, "But this _other _issue is easily solvable."

Harry smiled as he was kissed violently and relaxed against his lover's body, glad to be dominated once again.

**Hogwarts – 2030**

"Honestly, of all the reasons you've ever wanted to break into Hogwarts, this is by far the most absurd."

Harry stood in the room of requirement with his hands crossed over his chest and an eyebrow raised, staring hard at Voldemort, who was looking at a large screen that was much like a muggle cinema.

"Don't act like I'm the only one of us who wants to know," Voldemort responded, looking back and trying not to smile when he took in Harry's appearance. His lover was dressed immaculately in green and gold robes, looking the perfect mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin with his bright charismatic eyes and cunning smirk. "You're here too, aren't you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Firstly, _I'm _chairman of the board," He commented, pointing at the Hogwarts badge on his robes, "And more importantly, I'll have you know that I _don't _want to know. As a matter of fact – I already do."

Voldemort raised his eyebrow and curled his lips into a mischievous smile. "Well, are you sharing this information, or are you sleeping on the couch?"

Harry laughed at that, and wrapped his arms around Voldemort's waist, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes. "If you wanted that to be an actual threat, you shouldn't have spent ten thousand galleons on a couch," He responded, "And I do have ways of getting you to sleep on the couch _with _me, you know,"

Voldemort shifted his legs slightly as Harry began kissing at his neck. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Fine, fine," Harry conceded, wearing an amused expression. "The Malfoy twins – Eadric and Odelia. He's taking both of them, the rascal."

Voldemort grimaced, not liking the sound of that at all. "Draco's youngest children? Our son is attending the Yule Ball with _Draco Malfoy's _twins?"

Harry made a face as if to suggest that he was none too fond of this development either. He opened his mouth to say so before he paused, clearly getting a good look at the screen for the first time.

"Is that… Is that wall showing Ari getting dressed?" He asked, frowning with disapproval, "Why did you ask the room of requirement to show you Ari getting dressed?"

Voldemort glared back at his young consort, offended by the implication that he had anything other than innocent motives. "My exact request was 'a room to spy on my son' and this is what I got. What did _you _ask for?"

"You," Harry responded with a casual shrug, "Well, I was actually here to inspect Gryffindor tower because professor Longbottom says that he suspects a very intricate prank on the fat lady from George Weasley's son, but then after a brief moment of chat with the Salazar Slytherin portrait in the headmasters office I was thinking that I had to talk to you, and the door opened for me as I walked by the room so I figured why not take a peek, and here you are!"

Voldemort nodded, watching as some Slytherin sixth year who was in his opinion too handsy helped Arius adjust the bow-tie on his dress robes. "Does Salazar need a word with me? He hasn't been in his portrait at the manor lately, I was beginning to worry,"

"Well you asked him to look after Ari _here, _it wouldn't make any sense if he was back home," Harry rationalized, brushing some lint off of Voldemort's robes. "He actually just thought we'd both be interested in knowing that _your son _opened the chamber of secrets."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he took a deep and frustrated breath. "He did _what_?"

"Oh wait, it gets better," Harry said, wearing his 'I'm a serious father, not a little boy' face, "He's been using it for his – err – _personal _exploits. Apparently at this point, the majority of his romantic interests have also seen the chamber."

Voldemort was distinctly unimpressed.

"He gets that from _you, _you know."

"What?"

"That desire to have sex in places that are generally unpleasant and grimy. Don't think I forgot where we had _our _first romantic rendezvous," Voldemort said.

Harry snorted, "I certainly hope you're not saying _I'm _strange for the Privet Drive incident, because I think we'll both recall that the first time we did something romantic it was in a _cauldron _at the fucking _Gaunt _house of all places, and it was entirely _your _fault! I read about that potion, Tom! It doesn't need virgin semen, it needs human pleasure in general! You could have wanked your damn self!"

"Ah, but why do it to myself when I have _you_," Voldemort responded with a sly smirk.

Harry simply rolled his eyes at the man's antics. "Speaking of the Gaunt House, when are you giving it to Arius? He's seventeen now, and he's going to be getting restless at the manor soon, especially if you keep up this curfew business. You and I are the only two people left in the Wizarding world who could possibly out-duel him, there's no need to be so overprotective."

"I told him that he may have it if he wins the Tri-Wizard Tournament." Voldemort responded, as if to say that he'd hardly done anything at all.

"That's cruel, Tom! What if he doesn't win?"

"It'll be good motivation for him. Besides, he's _going _to win. With my knowledge and your luck there's no way he could lose."

Harry seemed as if he was going to argue that, but then clearly realized that what Voldemort was saying was actually true, so he merely accepted it, taking another glance at his son and smiling. They had brought the world something beautiful with this boy, and that was enough to make up for anything that either of them had done.

**Godric's Hallow – 2998**

To Harry, it was very odd, but at the same time, not so strange at all. He had grown to understand Tom Marvolo Riddle more than anyone else in the world had, so in that way, it was not so strange. And yet, the idea of it still didn't make any sense in his mind. How was it that Tom Riddle, teenage extraordinaire, Minister of Magic, Reigning Dark Lord of the Wizarding world – would be the kind of man who would so freely and openly weep?

But he did. He cried into his own hands, and Harry watched him, numb – unfazed. He was frozen. Untouched by the despair that he could feel wracking through his lover with every second.

"I was always so afraid that he would turn out just like I did," Tom was saying, quietly. He had stopped crying so harshly now, and the tears dripped down his face without much fuss, "But he didn't … he _wouldn't," _

Harry didn't have to ask who 'he' was that Tom was speaking of. Their son, Arius, had lived an unhealthily long life. They had used whatever magic they could to bind him to the world of the living, but in the end, it just wasn't enough. Life was a game of balance, and one could not live forever without taking the life of another. That's just how that sort of magic worked. Arius hadn't made a Horcrux, and thus – he had died.

Harry, surprisingly, did not feel the need to weep at this. Their son was over nine-hundred years old when he passed, and Harry had only expected to get two hundred years with him at most. Arius had been old, and he had been ready. It was the way that a person ought to die if they were going to go – but to Tom, no one should go. Tom didn't understand that death was sometimes the best way, and he never would. And so, for the first time, he learned the sadness of losing someone you love, and Harry witnessed that.

"He had my morality, Tom. He would not split his soul to prolong a life already so well lived." Harry explained, hoping to comfort his lover somewhat. It didn't work, of course.

"A thousand years ago – to the day – I stood only a few graves over, _relieved _that I was about to kill _you, _and now … look at how everything has turned out," He gestured to the graves of their son and grandchildren. They had quite the large family now, but Tom had never cared for any of them but Arius. "Harry James Potter – the bane of my existence – one of the only two people in this world who I will ever care about."

Harry tried not to grimace at that. Arius had never properly understood Tom, and had always resented the fact that his own father showed no affection towards his wife and children. Tom had coddled Arius as a boy, but Harry had handled the grandchildren. He missed all of them, but had long-since accepted that when it's time, they must go. He wondered if, perhaps, Tom would have accepted this as well if he'd cared enough for their grandchildren to mourn their passing.

"I suppose you're ready to go now," Tom said, looking at Harry with eyes even more bloodshot than usual, "I know how easily the world bores you. It always has,"

Harry smiled lightly, thinking of how far they'd come. "Yes, this world we live in has nothing for me, my love," He said softly. He had seen so much, learned so much, done _so much_ and still there was nothing. "Hidden tombs of forgotten mummies in Egypt … Soaring through the sky after learning flight … Looking down at the world from the Eifel Tower, The Empire State Building, Mount fucking Everest," Harry chuckled, "It's all such a bore,"

He looked into Tom's eyes again there, and saw everything that he'd always wanted to see and more, "But standing here, beside you … Nothing could ever compare."

He knew that Tom was thinking of Arius. He knew that any mention of love would make Tom think of their son for quite some time. But – they _had _that time. They had all the time in the world and after a thousand years, still hadn't gotten sick of each other. Harry supposed that perhaps if you got the 'mortal enemies' thing out of the way first, you could uphold a reasonably peaceful relationship. After all, what on earth could they have to fight about when they'd already tried to kill each other? How could Harry ever be angry with Voldemort if he'd already forgiven him for murdering his parents?

There was nothing left for them to conquer together but death, and Harry knew that Tom wouldn't be ready for that anytime soon. But, for now – until then – they would be just fine.

**A/N: I hope you liked the story. Please feel free to leave a review, as I quite adore them (even the bad ones, yes.) I don't consider this story to be perfect, and I probably should have posted it up as separate chapters but honestly I've been working on it for so long that I'm just ready for it to be over! **

**Any grammatical/typo/spelling related criticism is fine, but please keep in mind that I probably will not go back and change it. I'm currently looking for a beta, so if you really LIKE to tell people their grammar is shite, feel free to do that to message me about doing that on a regular basis xD **

**I love you all for taking the time to read.**

**-Beloved**


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